


Unpaid Advertising

by galere



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad Puns, Created because of a pun, Drabble, Minor Violence, Not affiliated with JJ-see title, Swearing, This Is STUPID, Thrown into our universe, mildly amusing, pun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 21:23:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20396377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galere/pseuds/galere
Summary: Happiness is the pursuit of villainy, murder, and chimichangas. Mostly chimichangas.





	Unpaid Advertising

One minute Deadpool was castrating evil, cackling dipshits who created portals (he wasn’t literally castrating them, that took too much effort, he was lightly stabbing them through the stomach) and the next he was falling through one of those same portals. Ya know, just dealing with everyday normal shit. 

It was just his luck that one minute he was killin’ and the next three hours he spent falling and falling and falling. The view was pretty at the very least. He had gotten sick of seeing it though, after the first three minutes of falling and had thrown his katanas out into space. It was his best attempt at killing a star yet. 

Deadpool didn’t feel the fire at first, he had shut his eyes a while ago, maybe he had napped. He opened his eyes when he started to hear again-his ears popping (he then screamed, “Fug!” all the way down)-and he noticed that he was on fire and so was his suit, he had started to wear fireproof boxers just in case. Turns out that running with your floppy bits out makes the rating for your shit go up, c'est la vie. Thus fireproof boxers. 

Anyway, he was falling towards Earth (it was blue and green all around, so it was definitely Earth he was about to hit). Soon enough he crash landed in an all too familiar city with high rises, skyscrapers, and the largest dildo in the world: The Empire State Building (well, it was the largest dildo at one point, or at least the longest, maybe not the girthiest). 

Regardless, DP fought some teched-out-ninja-powered-supermen portal people and after killing some he was vanquished to space through a portal and landed in New York City. “All in all, my day was great,” he said to you. “What about you? I’m starving hungry, that’s how I’m feeling.”

A random passerby with a beanie gave DP a dirty look. DP scratched his crotch in response. Beanie boy wrinkled his nose and scolded him, “Get some clothes, you look like a wart.” 

“Greetings, strange Earth boy, what year is it and where’s the closest chimichangas?”

Beanie boy scurried away. 

“Well! Rude. Guess I should get some clothes.” And so Deadpool found himself strolling down the street in just his boxers for some while. (He took like a dozen steps, punched through a window of some apartment building (he had to punch it several times because this Earth is bullshit) and stole an overly large orange shirt with an apple on it and some hawaian themed shorts.) 

After some light thievery, he continued down the street with a jaunty whistle. “Howdy,” he told a young girl (she was probably seven), the mother shot him a dark look. He couldn’t help that his face had the appearance of a rapist who had been shoved into the family barbeque. “Where’s a chimichanga? You guys don’t have Avengers, right? Anyone need killing? Where are the strippers?”

And so on and so forth. People these days are so particularly. You ask someone for cake and they tell you to get your own. Back in DP’s day you just stabbed them and took it. This world was going to be fun with no Avengers telling him he had to be a good DP. Deadpool liked this. 

He must have asked a dozen people. One of those ugly ducklings told him that he could find food that way and another one told him that he looked like some Ryan Reynolds fucker (their words not his, this is a Christian fanfiction, c’mon you tard, get with the program). Soon enough he was passing by restaurants and not shitty places of living for losers. 

McDonalds. “Kid’s song, kid’s food. Pass.”

Arby’s. “Sounds gay. It has a dick for a sign.” 

Generic Pizza Place. “Not chimichangas.”

He passed too many restaurants and none of them Mexican. He was beginning to lose hope and patience. A group of fangirls and fanboys were beginning to follow him around, telling him he had such a cool Ryan Reynolds/Deadpool cosplay. 

Idiots. He was the Deadpool, there was no other. “What do you mean I look like this douchebag, prove it.” 

Soon enough everyone was telling him about Ryan Reynolds and Robert Downey Jr. and a bunch of other fake names. What a bunch of losers. Deadpool would be a better actor for Deadpool, Ironman, Thor, and all those other Avengers. None of the other Avengers mattered anyway, they were all just-

DP walked by a shitty bar and arcade before he saw it. Jimmyjohngas. 

Wait. He misread that. How the hell could he regenerate from being decapitated but he couldn’t read a goddamn sign. Jimmy John’s.

Whatever (DP imagined some teenage primadona flipping her hair with a cool spin with that thought). He opened the door which dinged, and inside it was everything he could imagine. Some asshole with a gun was pointing it at some depressed, weedy looking high schooler who looked like he wanted his life to end. Deadpool decided he was going to end this. 

But first. “Do you guys make jimmyjohngas?”

“Sir, we’re a sandwich shop.”

“...Is that a yes?”

The asshole interjected, “Think it means no, and this a fucking (language!) robbery! Gimme your money you burnt-ass marshmallow.”

DP moved toward the cash register and weedy kid. “Okay, is that a yes or no?”

“No, sir. We’re a sandwich shop.”

Asshole shot DP with resounding crack-bang. “Hey, we’re being civil, figuring out this jimmyjohnga thing and you shoot me? This is your only warning, man. Okay. No jimmyjohngas, what else you got? I’m starving, I fought lizardmen who could shoot lasers out of their eyes and create portals to alternate dimensions. Those types of things are exhausting, ya know?”

“Sir, look at the menu. We’re a sandwich shop. Do you want french bread, whole wheat bread, or 9-grain wheat bread?”

“I’ll give you a 9-millimeter if you don’t effing listen,” the gunman said with a dark look. 

DP looked at the gunman and his weapon. “That’s not a 9-milimeter through. And we’re doing business. Go away. Shoo.” Then, pivoting to the invisible camera (that’s you) DP said, “Seriously, kids, don’t try this at home. Actually, go to bed, you’re probably reading this at three in the morning. Get your beauty sleep. Shoo.” 

Asshole threw his hands in the air and heaved a sigh. “Whatever man, eat your 9-grain wheat bread. I already got most of Jimmy boy's cash.”

DP turned back to weedy Jimmy boy. “I’m going to hunt down your boss and make him create Jimmyjohngas. This isn’t the last you’ll hear from me. And if he doesn’t make them then I’ll hunt down that boss’s boss, then if that doesn’t work I’ll hunt down that boss’s boss, and if that doesn’t work… I’ll be back for you.” 

“Sir, I make sandwiches. Not decisions.”

Deadpool hisses before turning towards you. He slowly backs out of the restaurant while monologuing. “My fatal flaw. My morality. Achilles had his heel, and I have my principles. I can’t harm an innocent it’s wrong. I also have irresponsibility. And procrastination. And murder. And thieving. And a face that a mother wouldn’t love. And a girth monster. I mean a lizard. I mean a reptile in a tank at home. And so much more…”

“Have a good day and come again,” said weedy Jimmy boy as DP exited. 

Right as he turned around to walk further down the street, to continue the search for chimichangas, he stepped into another lightning-y portal. This time he screamed, “Fuck!” and many more obscenities while he was falling.


End file.
